The Question of Existence
by Youko-Kokuryuuha
Summary: To be, or not to be; was that The Question? Hah. How crude it was, to ask a Nobody such a thing. It wasn't like there was a choice in the matter. Perhaps, if there was... Saïx one-shot.


Disclaimer: The Kingdom Hearts franchise does not belong to me; I'm dealing with it.

Warnings: Mild language and slight sexual themes.

A/N: Alright. So I've been brooding over this Saïx fic for a few days now, and I think it's about ready. Unexplainably, Saïx has always been my favorite KHII character (next to Riku, of course). His calm and collected exterior was just cool like that. :p

I never felt Saïx received a justifiable end. Of all of Organization XIII's members, I can recall only him dying while yearning for a heart. Everyone else just kept complaining "why, Roxas?", which got annoying. I thought his character deserved a little expansion, so you get this.

-Thanks goes to Pen Against Sword for beta reading! :D If you haven't read her material yet, you're a bum... :B

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_The Question of Existing:_

* * *

His vision was blurry. He saw the golden outline of the heart-shaped object in the sky and staggered to it, his body screaming in protest with every movement. It was there. It was so close, so damn close. A trembling hand reached out as he pined for the light, before he crumpled as the shock of the blows struck him at once. Consciousness fled as the darkness consumed him.

-

"It's nice, isn't it?"

It was night. A golden orb hung in the sky, it's glow both beautiful and haunting. He was sitting, barefoot and shirtless, in the sands of the shore, water laving up against his ankles. Gone was his black cloak, replaced by a pair of black jammers. A pair of small, delicate feet lay beside his. He looked up; his companion's face was oddly obscured. With a squint, he realized his own hands and feet retained a fuzzy appearance.

The words that had been spoken obviously belonged to his peer; the voice seemed oddly... absent. The sound of the place was muffled, and though the words were audible, they lacked embodiment and definition. It was an unusual phenomenon.

"Actually, it is."

This voice had clearly been his own, and yet he had not commanded his lips to part; they had done so of their own accord. It was as though he were watching a video run its course. He felt his hand rise and run across his face and through his hair: the X-shaped scar was gone.

"Gasp! You agree with me."

"Of course I agree with you."

"Don't be retarded; we almost always fight about stuff."

"Hmm, you're right. Allow me to correct that."

The tone of his voice was disgustingly playful. He ran a hand through the sea water and flicked the droplets at his peer. There was a brief scuffle for water and an outbreak of laughter before they settled back into relaxed silence.

"It really is beautiful, though." The words had been spoken nonchalantly. He turned to look at his companion, who in turn was gazing at the moon. "It's all poetic and stuff. Makes me feel like I've got a little Shakespeare right next to my heart."

"A what?" Saïx inquired; he felt his eyebrows arch in confusion.

The response was incredulous. "_Shakespeare_. You've never heard of Shakespeare?"

"No, I haven't. Why?" he added. "Was he important?"

"Nah. He was only the greatest playwright and poet, _ever_, is all."

"Funny."

"Come on! You've never heard of Romeo and Juliet? Or Hamlet? How about Macbeth?" To each of these, he felt his head turn in denial. "Weirdo. There's one thing everyone knows, though: 'To be, or not to be, that is the Question.'"

"Is it?"

"Is what?"

"Is that the question? It's not like you have a choice."

"That's not the point! That quote is considered to be the greatest and most used line of literature!"

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense. You can't choose."

"Does it make a difference?"

"Yes, it does." There was a sigh of exasperation.

"Fine, stick-in-the-mud. Let's say you can choose whether to exist or not. What would you choose?"

Saïx's response died on his lips; the vision was becoming dull. The two forms upon the shore shrank. They were fading into the distance, fading into the darkness.

It swallowed them whole.

-

It was dark.

Saïx lay sprawled upon the floor–or whatever it was he was on. It was an endless void of bleak darkness, the occasional shimmer here and there betraying the signs of movement to his eyes. The plane beneath him was smooth; it reminded him faintly of Betwixt and Between.

He gathered himself up and stood, his muscles taut. A moment of intense anxiety crept by slowly (or perhaps quickly? It was impossible to tell in this place). He sighed, dropping his guard and further examining his surroundings.

Behind him, the bleak vacuum continued silently. He turned from it, glancing at his sides, and saw that they, too, offered little reprieve from the darkness. Saïx turned in neglect to face the expected void before him.

There was a glimpse of white–the light at the end of the tunnel. It was minute; had it been physically present, Saïx would have been able to place it on his fingernail. But it was impossibly far away...

He squinted. The faint light had unveiled what he could not discern before. He saw, clearly now, the torpid drifting of bodies, eyes closed and mouths firmly shut; they were practically comatose. He saw a man's body flicker out of the light's reach and saw the ripple in the darkness as a Dusk filled the body's absence. With another flicker of light, the Dusk dispersed–presumably to the Corridor of Darkness. Saïx now knew where he was:

The Void. Alpha and Omega, where it began and (apparently) ended. How fitting.

He had not noticed it before. He had been preoccupied with examining and studying this place, but the realization brought the sensation to light. He could feel the steady flow of matter–of non_life_–seeping out of him and rejoining its origin.

How cruel it was, giving a Nobody false hope by distracting it with curiosity, only to rip it shamelessly away with sudden and blunt apprehension. It was like laying him bare upon a slab of rock and jabbing him with a spear in the chest, where he lacked that oh-so-vital and elusive of organs.

It was here that he would Fade, slowly and quietly, into Nothing. He much preferred it to the messy and painful affair it could have been. The end the Keyblade whelp had supplied had proved to be no more than a mere transition. The Keyblade whelp, who had not stopped to think that he, Saïx, had wanted nothing more than his heart, to be whole–but he would not think of that here. In his final moments, he wanted nothing more than to enjoy his solitude and brood.

What had it been? Was it something offered to all Nobodies to ease the Transition, or had it been something more? A vision, perhaps? A memory? Why now, at his end, did he recall it? He had no memory of ever being so relaxed, let alone laughing whole-heartedly at a beach. The conclusion struck him swiftly.

It was a remnant of his humanity.

But that was illogical, improbable. He was not like the others, he had no memory of his past life. If anything (and he despised the thought), he was most akin to Roxas, who retained nothing of himself. That was why Saïx had understood the boy's yearning, because it mirrored his own. And it was Roxas' betrayal and finding of contentment that had driven him to his boundaries, to savage desperation. Why should the traitor receive salvation? The rage had transformed him into an animal, unrestrained and hellbent on his goal.

But, of course, those plans had flopped horribly.

He had taken the road of "safety in numbers," mocked Roxas on his lone quest, treated him and his Other with derision, and, consequently, died.

Saïx uncrossed his arms; they had become numb from being held in that unmoving position. Or perhaps it was the constant seeping of his substance? Not that it mattered; the outcome would ultimately be the same.

Days–perhaps weeks–crept by. There was no change in the monotony and uniformity of The Void. It was always the same flow of barren darkness, back and forth. The still, unresponsive forms of passing Nobodies offered him little comfort. It was always the same.

And then one day it changed.

He had paid no attention to it at first; he had assumed the ripple of movement was another passing Nobody. The glare of red upon his eyelids forced him to look again, and he saw the shimmer of white light moving toward him. It had detached itself from the only other source of light.

Saïx attempted to stand, his body aching and groaning with the effort; he had grown weak and unsustained in this place. With a hand upon his knee, he heaved himself upward before glancing back at the figure. It had closed the gap surprisingly fast.

As the light wafted closer, it took form. The bright glare dulled to pink cheeks and smooth skin. It molded itself into curves and angles, hips and shoulders, until finally it was close enough for him to discern the features.

It was a girl.

No, that wasn't right. She was older than a child, and stood nearly level with his height. The tight pair of black, knee-high shorts (decorated with white zig-zagging thread) was overlapped at the waist by a plain white hoodie, its sides sloping horizontally at the neck to bare her shoulders. His eyes wandered to the snow-colored flipflops housing her feet, before flickering up her chest (which he, as a Nobody who experienced no sexual desire whatsoever, no matter the size, took little notice of) and finally finding her face.

She was pretty, and her neck-length raven hair only accentuated that. The round laterals of her face came to meet as a soft, curved chin, and her eyes were the deepest shade of navy blue he had ever seen; it was like looking into the night sky. Her pink lips were fixed into a quizzical pout to match the stare she was giving him.

Saïx said nothing to her; he didn't have the strength. The silence which he had become accustomed to stretched on like this, with neither making a sound or move. And then suddenly, alarmingly, she broke this by putting the index finger and thumb of each hand together to form a rectangle. She gazed at him through it intently, her tongue at an angle, as though he were a portrait, before allowing her hands to come to a rest on her hips.

"You look different," she said, shattering the taboo and breaking the silence; her voice was soft and light. Saïx chose not to respond. If he ignored her, if he simply pretended she wasn't there, maybe she'd give him back his relaxed solitude, maybe she'd go away–

"Do you know where you are?" Damn, of course not. That would be too easy.

"The Brink of Oblivion," he responded.

"Yeah," she said, "at the end of The Void." Silence reigned again. He wouldn't have to speak first, he was sure of it. She seemed verbose enough. It was simply a matter of when.

After hours of silent staring, however, Saïx was beginning to wonder when that 'when' would come. His patience wearing thin, he made the first move. "What?" he said, irritation snaking its way into his voice.

"What what?" It was a deliberate echo.

"What do you want? If you don't mind, I like being alone. Go. Away."

"Ouch," she said, in a mock-offended tone. "No need to be so heartless."

"I'm a Nobody, not a Heartless. Learn the difference." Silence again. Then–

"Wow. Your comebacks suck. There aren't too many people who insult _themselves_, you know."

His eyes narrowed as she began rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She was quickly wearing away at his reserved strength. It didn't help that he was ebbing away where he stood.

"He told me you'd be like this." She leaned forward, arms crossed behind her back. "All snarky and emo and reluctant to talk to me."

He wanted to snap at her, to growl at her, to wipe that oh-look-how-innocent-and-safe-I-am look off her face. But he couldn't, not when he was so deprived. Fragility in the face of the unknown, however, displayed weakness; his expression remained stoic, his voice strong and arms crossed.

"And _who_, pray tell, is 'he'?"

Her index finger rested itself upon her chin as she looked upwards, eyes squinting in concentration. "Said he was a friend of yours. This guy with spiky red hair"–she imitated the shape through the air with her hands–"and these huge, brilliant blue-green eyes." Something hot licked against his insides; it was that traitorous scum.

"Axel." He had snarled the name before he could stop himself.

"No, I don't think that was his name. Didn't have an 'x' in it."

"Of course it is."

"No, it isn't."

He was not going to argue the matter. "He hasn't faded?"

"Nope."

"Take me to him."

"Can't."

"Then tell me where he is." The agitation was creeping up his throat and into his bared teeth. She nodded in the direction of the light, her answer simple and airy.

"Existing."

"Exist–?" He felt as though he were at the end of a rubber band. He saw the slow, gradual stretch that was the setup, but failed to grasp the meaning until after the words had hit him. "He can't exist. He's a Nobody, non-existent, without a heart! He's marked for oblivion."

"Yes," she said, her voice becoming fiercer to match his, "he can, and no he isn't. And don't argue, I know what I'm talking about!"

"Then do me the honor of telling me how!" It had become a shouting match.

"Because he was saved!"

"Then why the effing _hell_ are you here!?" The roar nearly tore his throat apart.

"To save you, asshole!"

"Save me? _Save me?_" Saïx rasped. "I'm about to fade into non-existence, and you're spewing nonsense about saving me?"

"Duh, that's what I just said!" she retorted, her face quickly growing red. She had balled up her fists and stomped her foot rather menacingly. "Stop being a jerk-off and let me save you!"

"With _what_? With love, the greatest of man's treasures?" He saw her face go crimson and leapt upon her momentary display of vulnerability. "I suppose you're some tramp from my past life who's confused a night of sexual desire and physical gratification with _love_?"

"No," she said coolly.

"Then what? What could you possibly gain from robbing me of my final moments of peace?"

She stared at him, panting as if she had just greatly exerted herself, until her breathing calmed. She willed herself to break away from his piercing gaze as her expression softened. "A friend."

"_A friend?_" Saïx crooned, his voice mocking. "Please. You hardly know me."

"I know that you love midnight strolls on the beach."

He froze, his body rigid as a cold sweat overtook him. "What did you–?"

"I know that you think the moon in the night sky is beautiful," she said, cutting him off. "I know you always had someone fawning over you, but was were absolutely clueless when it came to girls. I know you were kind and gentle, and that you'd never lay hands on a girl. I know that you were afraid of heights, but got over it when you had to save me from falling over a cliff for that _stupid_ kite." A soft look of affection crossed her face. "I know you better than anyone."

"What–? Don't be–" He was spluttering between words; he could barely speak. His shaking hand lay firmly clutched upon his left breast; the hollow cavity had taken up a faint throbbing at her words, and he felt the wane lessen and yield. He was trembling with violent disbelief and shock. The ticking was racing now, going faster and faster, and yet it was somehow still detached...

"You don't know me at all," he snarled. He refused to believe it, that this girl dared impose these unfounded _lies_ upon him. "Did you know that I've prompted massacres? That I've ruined lives?" He saw her flinch.

"You've never killed," she whispered, the color draining from her face as she went stark white.

"Kill? Do you think that's the only way to injure a heart? Don't be naive." The apathetic calmness was returning. "I've torn apart countless families for the sake of harnessing Heartless. The loss of a loved is the greatest of agonies to those who bear their hearts so proudly." A smirk crossed his lips; she was faltering. "Tell me, girl, how well do you know me now?"

She stared at him, eyes red and chest heaving as though she had just endured a great suffering. "I know...I know–"

"Nothing." It was a cold response. "You know only that I am Nothing. You know only that I do not exist. You know only that I have no heart. You know only that I do not feel. Remember that. Remember that you know–"

"I know that your first crush, your first kiss, was with me, Sai."

He felt the gashes open at the base of his skull and the front of his chest; it was agonizing. It was as though someone had plunged a violently writhing warm mass into him as he swelled with emotion. He was angry, he was confused, he was enthralled, he was afraid...

His mind was screeching with the symphony of melded voices as images flickered before his eyes. They flew by before he could grasp them, and yet he recalled each as clearly as though they had just occurred.

He was a child, standing atop a green hill overlooking a meadow, the sky a pale blue; he was splashing wildly and laughing with friends in a lake; he was running up a rocky cliff with shaking knees, the sky thundering overhead, as he sighted a girl's pale arm and pulled; he was sixteen, being led solemnly away from his father's open coffin, accompanied only by an unfamiliar girl... He willed the memories to stop.

He was at the beach again, his toes in the sand and the moon bright overhead. He saw the face of his companion now, and could hear her voice, clear and distinct. It was Her. They were laughing as they splashed water at each other before settling into their conversation.

"What would you choose?" He saw himself shrug. "You don't know?"

"No, Sonia," he said, "I don't."

"There isn't anything in this world you'd exist for?"

"A father I've never properly known, a mother always off courting someone, friends I don't have, and greedy relatives waiting for me to die so they can claim the fortune I don't want." He allowed a playful pause. "You're right. Why not exist when I have so much going for me?"

"Oh, shut up." She gave him a playful shove. "Want me to rephrase it? Is there any_one_ in this world you'd exist for?"

An affectionate smile spread on his lips. "Don't know. I'd have to check the list." She smiled and pushed him in mischievous retaliation. With a look of surprise on both their faces, they toppled over, her over him. Their noses were inches apart; she was scarlet, he was crimson.

And then their lips met, their noses rubbing awkwardly against each other as they kissed upon the sands in the ebbing tide. The memory whisked away into the fleeting darkness.

They were on a pier. Black waves crashed against the structure as the storm raged and red lightning crackled. He saw the gargantuan hand rise out of the sea, saw the yellow eyes glaring at him out of a black face. He turned and saw her; fear was plastered upon her face, and he felt himself push her away. There was a heart-wrenching scream, and the darkness engulfed him.

Or was he just staring at the floor again? He was kneeled upon the floor, cold sweat dripping from his face as his chest rose and fell. The heaving subsided with each rattling breath, until it was muffled completely. He looked up.

An outstretched hand obscured his vision.

"Well, take it," she said, smiling. "It's not infected or anything." Numbly, he took it and rose clumsily to his feet.

"Sonia," he said, breathless. He moved to embrace her–

"Watchit."

–and was greeted by a light slap to the face instead.

"Did I deserve that?" he said, rubbing the sore spot on his cheek. Her lips pursed.

"I dunno. You said mean things and called me a tramp, so you tell me."

"It wasn't like that. I wasn't me."

"Bull crap," she said, though a simper had spread across her face.

"Fine," he said, caving, "bull crap it is."

"You haven't even changed."

"Oh? I think I have."

"Oh, really?" she probed, eyeing him in mock-suspicion. "Ever heard of Shakespeare?"

He bridged the gap in one stride; his arms enveloped her as she wrapped her arms around his waist. His lips brushed against hers, pressing into the soft grooves that were the wrinkles of her lips; they parted. Saïx gazed at her, amber into azure.

"To be," he said finally.

Her eyes sparkled with tears as she chuckled. "You're so lame." He smiled. She smiled, too. He felt her warm hand slip into his, and together, they walked out of the darkness and into the light.

It was... Shakespearean-ly cliché.

* * *

_-End-_

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A/N:

-I know, I know, I used an OC. Can you blame me, though? There isn't a lot to go on when it comes to Saïx's history. I had to take some liberties in writing this. First and foremost, the timeline of his world. Considering that plenty of the worlds of the KH-Universe (Radiant Garden, Twilight Town) have fairly recent technology, I simply assumed Shakespeare had long gone and past.

-And now I ramble, with more liberties intact; his scar. Considering that Saïx can't be any older than two years, it makes little sense that he could have received the scar and had it heal so progressively. What's more, Nobody's don't exactly look like their Others, so it doesn't make sense that he obtained it from his original. I like to think it's an emotional scar on his soul. :p

-Well, I think that's about it. Hope you enjoyed the fic, leave a comment expressing your opinion on the way out. :D


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